Читать книгу The Mother’s Lies - Joanne Sefton - Страница 6

Helen

Her phone rang just as the children were finishing their food. Helen answered, then tried to balance the slim handset between her ear and shoulder so she could bend to wipe Alys’s mouth, but the child was too quick for her, wriggling off her stool and smearing jammy stickiness down Helen’s clean tights. She let her go, too bone-tired to do anything more.

‘Sorry, I didn’t catch …’ she started to say.

‘It’s Dad, Helen.’

‘Oh, hi, just a sec …’ She paused to push down the door handle for Alys, allowing her to make her escape. Even through the confusion, Helen caught a weight to her father’s tone, and registered that it was odd for him to call when he must have known it was the children’s teatime.

‘The kids on good form then?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, they’re both fine.’

‘They’re not too …’

She heard Neil try to shape the question on his tongue and pictured his fingers worrying at the grey hair that was still thick behind his ears. Eventually he gave up, failure escaping his lips as a gentle sigh down the line.

‘They’re doing fine,’ she repeated, making an effort to say it more gently. ‘But what about you – is everything okay?’

Another breath down the line – this one heavy, steadying.

‘Your mum was up at the hospital today, love.’

Helen racked her memory, uncertain whether this was an appointment that she was meant to have known about. Had Barbara’s eye problem flared up again? Was there anything else that she’d mentioned recently?

‘Right …’ she stalled.

‘It’s not good, Helen.’

His voice cracked on the ‘H’ of her name and she felt her heart jump, then race.

Her father continued, ‘She had a mammogram … They’ve found a lump.’

*

It was twenty minutes after the call ended when Alys and Barney came tumbling down the stairs. Helen was still sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by their leftovers. The phone was by her side and she was dabbing her eyes with her knuckles. Barney wobbled on his tiptoes to get the box of tissues from the windowsill before placing it on the table by her elbow. She went to take one but the box was empty – he must not have realised – so she kissed his gorgeous chestnut hair and tried to keep her voice steady to ask him to fetch some toilet paper instead. She hated that they were seeing her like this.

‘Mummy? Are you sad because of Daddy?’ Barney asked, frowning as he handed over a streamer of toilet roll.

‘No, my love, don’t worry.’ Helen shook her head. ‘That was Granddad. He was phoning to tell us that your Nana Barbara is ill. She might be very ill, and that’s why I’m sad.’

‘I’m sad too,’ said Barney, looking relieved.

‘We’ll have to go and visit them,’ Helen said, attempting a smile. ‘You’ll both like that, won’t you? A trip up north? You can see Granddad Adam and Nana Chris while we’re there.’

Alys spoke at last. ‘Daddy come too?’

‘I don’t think so, lovely.’ Helen bent to kiss her, which allowed her to hide the fresh tears from Barney. She could smell the jam around her daughter’s mouth. ‘But we’ll tell him we’re going. And you’ll be able to talk to him on the phone.’

‘But we’re staying with Daddy on Friday,’ said Barney, in his matter-of-fact way. His small brow wrinkled and Helen caught her own father’s frown in his expression. ‘We’re all going to Gambado.’

‘You are, are you now?’

Darren had only moved out six weeks ago and already it seemed he was resorting to indoor-adventure-play bribery. That’d be hurting him in the wallet. And did Barney’s ‘we’re all’ include Lauren? She felt a tension flicker start up by her left eye.

‘Gam-ba-do, Gam-ba-do!’ Alys was echoing her brother, her voice full of wonder. Gambado might enchant them now, but it surely wouldn’t be long before the stakes were upped to Euro Disney, then Florida. Anger at bloody Darren flared inside her.

‘Well, now that Nana’s ill, I’m afraid Gambado might have to wait for another day. Barney, will you take Alys upstairs please. I have to phone your father.’ She realised she’d never called him ‘your father’ before he left; how quickly they were turning into one of those ex-couples.

Neil

He held the phone in his hand for a good minute or so after Helen had hung up. Even after all these years, he still ached for his daughter like a missing limb. He just needed a moment.

Once he’d gathered himself, he’d go back through to the living room, where Barbara would be doing the crossword or sudoku; denial tap-tapping from her pen as she drummed it on the newspaper, fingertips dancing under the shadow of her neat, treacherous breasts.

He put the handset back into its cradle and opened the living room door.

‘Shall I put a brew on, love?’

She nodded towards the cup at her elbow, her hands not even slowing.

‘No, thanks. I didn’t finish the other one, and it’s barely cold.’

‘Right.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Do you mind if I sit with you?’

‘Why would I mind, you daft bugger?’

He took a few steps, crossing the floor towards her, then reached out a hand to take the paper from her.

‘What are you doing? I’m about to get one.’

‘Put it down, love, eh? Just for a minute.’

She sighed, but did as he asked, laying the paper and pen to one side and folding her arms. He sat down beside her and placed a hand on her knee, half expecting her to brush it away.

‘I told our Helen.’

‘But we agreed we weren’t going to worry her.’

Neil shook his head. ‘We were wrong, love. I know what we said, but—’

‘Well, if you’ve done it then you’ve done it.’ She cut him off briskly and went to pick up her pen again. Neil pushed her hand gently down.

‘Barbara …’ his voice was shuddering, ‘… oh God, Barbara. You know I love you so, so much.’

To his surprise, she turned in to him and opened her arms to hold him.

‘And I love you, Neil. Always.’

After their embrace, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and she leant in against him, although she’d picked up the paper again, making a show of concentrating on her little scribbled sums. Her shoulders felt narrow, almost bony, and he pictured the cancer already leaching her strength, growing with parasitical single-mindedness.

‘I love you,’ he said again, almost apologetically.

‘So you said. And you’ll have plenty of time to say it again, whatever happens.’

‘I know.’

He counted to ten in his head.

‘Barbara?’

‘What?’

‘I love you!’

He peered over the newspaper, wondering if she’d laugh or just glare at him, but the look in her eyes was one of pity. His own laugh caught in his throat.

Surely Barbara was the one more in need of sympathy? But then his wife had never been one to conform to expectations.

Helen

The drive from London to Lancashire was a total nightmare. They sat in solid traffic for much of the way up the M6, even though it was only Thursday. Alys mostly slept, but Barney barely closed his eyes at all and whined about everything, from the dropped toy he couldn’t reach, to the fact that Helen wouldn’t turn up the sound on his DVD, to the abandoned trip to Gambado that she thought he’d forgotten about. When they finally arrived at her parents’ house, Helen had a pounding headache and a voice hoarse from singing ‘Wheels on the Bus’.

‘You do look very pale, Helen,’ said Barbara, on the doorstep, as though Helen was the one who was ill.

Helen scrutinised her mother carefully. She looked the same. Quite a tall woman, she still stood poker-straight, with her hair neatly coiled into the tight bun that Helen couldn’t remember seeing her without, and her brown eyes that always seemed to be somewhere else. While superficially nothing had changed, Helen could see that she’d lost weight, and Barbara had never had that much to spare. Her collarbones looked coat-hangerish and her hands, which were on the large side, looked even more out of proportion. There was a trace of a shadow around her eyes, but when Helen bent slightly to hug her, Barbara responded with her usual tight but perfunctory squeeze. She smelt of ink and mint imperials.

In the fuss of coats and comforters and Alys leaving a shoe in the car, Helen only noticed the envelope on the doormat because she actually stood on it. It was pale green and unsealed, clearly hand-delivered because it simply said ‘Barbara’ on the front, in what looked like black felt tip.

‘There’s a card for you here, Mum,’ she called.

Both children settled easily enough at bedtime. As usual when they visited, their beds were made up in Helen’s old room that they now thought of as theirs. As Helen bent to kiss Barney’s head, she remembered vividly lying in that bed, curled up to face the window as he was now.

Ten minutes later, she was downstairs in the living room, clutching a mug of gritty instant coffee. She breathed in deeply and could almost feel the steam easing out her frown lines.

‘So …’ she turned to Barbara ‘… how is everything?’

‘I’m fine, Helen, really, I am. I’m sure it’ll all be a fuss over nothing.’

‘I’m sure you’re right,’ Helen echoed, ‘but I’d rather be here all the same.’

‘We don’t know much more than when I spoke to you,’ put in Neil, who was nursing his cup of tea and standing anxiously by Barbara’s shoulder rather than taking a seat of his own. ‘We’re visiting the hospital tomorrow. She’ll see the consultant and get the results of the biopsy they did.’

‘I see.’ She knew all this already, but it seemed right to hear it again, in person.

‘You’ll come?’ he asked.

Helen looked at her mother. ‘Do you want me there?’

Barbara hesitated. ‘Well, it might be difficult … with the children and so on.’

‘I want you there,’ said Neil. Barbara opened her mouth, but he waved a hand and, uncharacte‌ristically, she shut it again. ‘No, Barbara. You know we struggled to remember everything they said to us last time. It’ll be good to have Helen with us. She’ll know what to ask.’

Helen nodded. ‘Of course I’ll come.’

The appointment was early the next morning, so Helen put down her coffee to make arrangements for the children. Christine, her mother-in-law, was kind as ever – her voice heavy with regret over the reason for their visit – but Helen could hear a reserve in her tone too. They weren’t on quite the same team any more. Dropping the kids off would be the first time she’d seen either Christine or Adam since Darren left.

A little later, with the children’s visit to the Harrisons sorted and the three of them sitting glazed in front of a detective show that nobody was actually watching, Helen’s gaze caught the two greetings cards on the fireplace. They were both floral designs, with no wording on the front. If it did turn out to be cancer, they’d soon start to multiply.

‘What was that note that came in today, Mum? In the green envelope?’ She was making conversation as much as anything else.

‘Oh, that. It was a card from Jackie at work.’ Barbara nodded towards the fireplace.

‘Why didn’t you put it up?’

‘I did.’ Her tone was placid, bemused.

‘You can’t have. Those were both here when we came in. I looked at them when Alys was saying goodnight to you and Dad.’

‘It’s the one there with the irises. You must have made a mistake.’

‘But—’

‘You must have made a mistake, Helen.’

Barbara’s gaze met Helen’s: calm, but commanding nevertheless. She couldn’t push it any further. But then why should it even cross her mind to pick an argument over a missing card? It was odd, thought Helen, what coming home could do to you.

*

‘Did the doctor make Nana Barbara better?’ asked Barney, in the car after Helen had collected them from the Harrisons. She was taken aback that he’d remembered where she had been; her little boy was growing up so quickly.

‘Well,’ she began, ‘the doctor can’t make Nana Barbara better straight away. But he did explain everything they’re going to do to try to make her better. She’ll be having an operation soon. Do you know what that is?’

Barney shook his head solemnly.

‘They give you some medicine so you go to sleep and can’t feel anything and then they open you up and have a look inside and try to take out whatever it is that’s making you ill. When they are done, they stitch you back together again as good as new.’

‘So then will she be better?’

‘Well, then she’ll have to recover from the operation, because it’s very tiring. Then they’ll give her some special medicine. And then she’ll hopefully be better.’

In fact, the prognosis had not been particularly rosy. Mr Eklund, the Swedish surgeon who would be operating on Barbara, had gently informed them that the biopsy had confirmed a malignancy in the left breast, and there were pre-cancerous changes in the right one, too. He couldn’t be sure how far it had spread before operating, but he thought the most likely scenario was a Stage 3 diagnosis, which would give her, very roughly, a 50/50 chance after chemotherapy. It was a lot to take on board.

‘Shall I give Nana one of my drawings?’

‘I think that would be a lovely thing to do, darling. Look, I’m just going to call in here …’ They were passing an out-of-town shopping place. The parking was easy and the kids would tolerate a quick trip in. ‘I want to get Nana a new nightdress for the hospital.’

When they got back, Barbara’s delight seemed out of proportion to the gift.

‘That was so thoughtful of you, Helen. You’ve really cheered me up.’

‘And I’ve called work – the kids and I will stay until after the operation. No arguments. Getting you through this is the most important thing at the moment.’

The glisten on Barbara’s eyes was as close as Helen had ever seen her to tears, and the thought of it almost made her well up herself. This Barbara was so different from the Barbara of last night, so hostile and cold over a stupid thing like that card. But then her mum always had been a conundrum. You never knew what you were going to get with her. That way you didn’t get too close.

She had plenty of practical issues to worry about, what with trying to hand work stuff over remotely and making a list of the things she’d need to buy for the kids, but still, somehow, Helen found the image of the green envelope was bothering her. She tried to blame it on tiredness, or perhaps her brain was looking for some sort of distraction from the hideous news at the hospital. But what could it be and why would Barbara lie about it? She kept drifting back to those questions.

Much later, when everyone else was in bed, Helen decamped to the back room to reply to some work emails and stuck on the TV for a bit of background noise. It was only when she finished and went to switch the TV off that she noticed the slim edge of green pushed to the bottom of a pile of papers on the sideboard.

She slid the top section of the pile aside and, sure enough, the green line turned out to be the edge of the small envelope that she’d seen on the doormat. The front simply said ‘Barbara’, written in a nondescript hand with, as she’d thought, black felt tip. The letter looked as though it had never been sealed, and the paper, cheap and green, matching the envelope, slid out easily.

HELLO BARBARA.

CANCER IS TOO GOOD FOR YOU.

DON’T WORRY – I’LL BE WITH YOU ALL THE WAY.

JUST LIKE YOU DESERVE.

JENNIFER

Helen’s hands started to shake; the harsh New York laughter from the chat show on television seemed to be taunting her. This was a joke, surely? Yet, on the other hand, it was no kind of joke at all.

She reread the thing twice or more, but her mind couldn’t process the words. Who was Jennifer? And what could she mean? Whatever it was, the intention behind it was obviously malevolent. But could it be serious? She started to look at the note itself, mechanically noting the flimsy copier paper, the black felt tip, the careful capitals with a few wobbles – she guessed that the author was using their wrong hand. But none of it took her any further.

After a few moments, the credits music startled her into action. She refolded the note and replaced it in the envelope. Once she’d tucked it away, back under a building society statement, she could almost believe she’d imagined it. She focused in turn on the graduation pictures on the wall and the wedding-present china shepherdess that Barbara hated. This was the normal world. It was more than normal – it was the world of dull, petty suburbia that Helen had escaped. It had nothing to do with threatening notes from anonymous villains. She resolved to confront Barbara again the next day. No matter how frosty or secretive her mother could be, she couldn’t simply brush off something like this.